Not to Shine in Use
by Draegwyn
Summary: Arthur's rule was one set by destiny. A great one. A nice case of the wheels of destiny turning smoothly. But there are other cases where things work out less nicely, and fate needs a hand. And the person magic picks on to do so? Arthur. Or, Arthur learns how Merlin feels when he is dragged to a parallel reality and forced to solve it's problems inconspicuously. Canon pairings.


**Hello! And welcome to a new fic! It might be a little late to start contributing to the Merlin fandom, but better late than never (hopefully). This is just a short scene setting chapter; more action shall ensue, don't worry.**

 **For anyone who errantly clicked on this expecting my KHR fic: don't worry, that's not abandoned. That one just has chapters that I can't cut down to below 5000 words, so requires slightly more time. This one, I'm hoping, will stick to 1000-2000 words per chapter.**

 **The Merlin fandom was what enticed me into fanfiction to begin with, so it's about time I gave something back to it. True, this may have begun as exam procrastination, but it's also a niggling idea that has been taking shape for a long time. Basically, this is an AU story where magic was never banned, so Arthur becomes King and Merlin Court Sorcerer with slightly less difficulty than in the show. All is going well, until Arthur is thrown into a parallel dimension where destiny is working... less nicely. And it's his job to inconspicuously sort it out.**

 **I hope it makes sense - if not, stick with it and it'll come together. This chapter is just setting the scene for the AU. I hope you enjoy it, and please, review!**

* * *

The night was black. The wind, spiteful as a spurned lover, tore at the castle battlements and sent gusts rattling hollowly down corridors. It was the small hours of the morning, and everybody - servants, nobility - was sensibly in bed, bar four who remained awake and alert through the unholy night. They currently occupied a dimly lit room, largely free from the chill that pervaded the rest of the castle thanks to the many insulating fabric hangings that decorated it.

The woman lay on the bed, her face gaunt and pale. Her swollen belly loomed above her as the midwife murmured comforting words and instructions from her place by her feet.

As the woman was racked by another set of contractions, causing her to cry a thin, strangled shout that turned into a sob, her husband moved forward and gripped her hand more tightly, worry etched into his already lined and harsh face. He looked to the midwife, who ignored him and merely said, 'One last push, Your Majesty. You're almost there.' And panting with exertion, the woman pushed, and brought her child into the world.

A cry started up as the midwife picked up the baby and quickly wrapped him in cloth. 'A son, Your Majesties,' she smiled, addressing both of them while handing the small wrinkled prune of a baby boy to his mother. The queen tried to push herself up, but failed, and settled for taking the bundle while lying down, an expression of elation on her face.

'Ah,' she murmured softly, arms draped limply around the child, 'Dear…' Her eyes fluttered shut and open. Her husband the king knelt beside her, and placed one arm behind her sweat soaked blond hair and the other on top of her arm and the baby, cradling them both. He tried to speak, but his wife spoke first. 'Ar.. Arthur…', she breathed, 'call him Arthur.' Then, a moment later, 'Tell him about me, please.'

Her husband's arms froze around her.

'…No. No,' he said, emotion shaking the edges of his voice, 'You'll be with him, Ygraine. He'll know you.' Ygraine shook her head almost imperceptibly. 'There was… a price…' Her voice was faint, but it carried around the room, and the fourth occupant, who'd so far stayed silent and shadowed against a wall, stepped forward.

She looked young, refined, and held herself in a controlled and slightly haughty way. Nevertheless, there was genuine horror in her eyes as she moved towards the prone woman.

'Not… not your life, Ygraine,' she said helplessly, 'I didn't… it shouldn't have been your life.' She looked at the king, who was glaring at her with irrational murder in his eyes. 'You,' he spat, 'You've killed my wife.' It was only the clutching of his arm by Ygraine's frail fingers that stopped him trying to strangle her then and there. 'It's not Nimueh's fault, Uther,' she murmured. 'She's a new priestess, she's not perfect…' Ygraine smiled, then looked down at baby Arthur. 'This is…. what I …. wanted. Thank… you, Nimueh. And, Uther… I love you.' Through his shock, Uther saw her gently kiss Arthur's forehead, then, with that, her eyes closed.

And then she went still.

Uther cradled his infant son and wept.

* * *

The horse moved skittishly over the cobbled in the mist of the morning as a cloaked figure moved over to it. They strapped some bags to it, then were just moving to mount when another, larger figure loomed from the fog.

'Uther,' Nimueh said with a slight start, 'you surprised me.'

'You don't have to leave,' Uther stated flatly, his black mourning clothes swirling in the mist. 'It wasn't your fault, and I need a Court Sorceror.'

Nimueh's eyes softened. 'Uther, please,' she said, gently but firmly, 'you can't look at me but see her. You need someone you can trust.'

'I trust y-'

'Look at me, Uther.' Nimueh's eyes were harsh with self reproach. 'My carelessness resulted in Ygraine's death. Can you honestly look at me and say you trust my judgements implicitly?'

Uther's silence spoke volumes.

'I don't trust myself anymore, either.' She spoke with sadness. 'I need to practice more, to get better; I need to know I won't do something like this again. There are plenty of decent sorcerers out there - I'm sure you'll find one.'

With that, she swung herself onto her horse and clattered away into the mist.

* * *

'What do you mean, you're leaving?', Uther exclaimed. The man in front of his throne bowed his head apologetically, his hands folded behind his tailored yet plain brown coat. 'I need an explanation, Balinor,' Uther said sternly, 'You've been an irreplaceable Court Sorcerer; I need you here.'

The man, Balinor, looked up at the king, his eyes dark and sad and quiet. 'I have to do this, Uther,' he said, his voice it's usual mix of understated melancholy and understanding. That was one of Uther's favourite things about the man - he had passion and determination where it counted (he'd seen it) - but mostly he was just a calm, diplomatic person who made a good foil for Uther's volatile energy. Now however, Uther just wished he'd get on with his excuses, not that he could imagine any.

'I'm dying, Uther,' said Balinor.

Ah. Uther certainly hadn't considered that one. He didn't know what to say, so settled for, 'What!?', and then, once his brain kicked in, 'Why?'

Balinor looked calm, and Uther wondered how it was possible in the face of one's death. Death.'I have an illness,' he explained. 'The healers and druids say it's very rare. Don't worry,' he added at Uther's recoiling in horror, 'it's not contagious. I'll just slowly waste away until I die.'

It was a lot to take in, but something still didn't make sense. 'How long have you got?', he asked.

'A year, maximum.'

'Well then,' Uther asked, 'why do you need to leave? Surely I can persuade you to stay. We need you here.'

Balinor sighed, bowing under what Uther suddenly realised must be the immense pressures he was facing. 'Uther, I'm not even a proper sorcerer. I can _barely_ do magic. I'm a Dragonlord. You have lots of up-and-coming talent in the Magic Training School - pick someone from there.'

Uther rather resented the fact that Balinor thought he wasn't clever enough to spot when someone was dodging round a topic. 'You _know_ I don't just need a powerful sorcerer. I need a magical representative with a place in the old ways who garners respect and is a good diplomat. You're perfect. So **why** do you need to leave?'

There was silence. Then…

'I have a son.'

Wait. What? Uther was more than a little shell-shocked. How often do you find out that a close friend has hidden his family from you? 'How old is he?', he asked, grasping at the first question that came into his head. 'Ten. He's two years younger than Arthur. His mother's from a village near Cenred's kingdom. If it wasn't for my responsibilities here that's where I'd be too.'

Uther processed this. He'd never thought of Balinor as a family man, but he had always been solitary - always slipping away for a weekend here, a day there, a holiday every so often… If his wife was attached to her village, as many were, it made sense that he wouldn't have moved her to Camelot. Well, well, well. The things you discovered, eh? He would have moved to congratulate his friend had the sudden realisation of what his death meant. His death. Ye gods, that sounded harsh.

'Anyway,' Balinor continued, 'I haven't been the most … _present_ father, and I'd like to change that, for however long I have. Also, he'll be Kilgarrah's and Gyfenhyse's Dragonlord after me, and there are things I need to teach him.'

'Well, of course you must leave then, though I will miss you. Will you return to Camelot prior to.. to…'

'To my death? Probably not. This is goodbye, Uther.'

This was happening too quickly, Uther thought. His emotions didn't have time to work out what was going on. Nevertheless, he got up, walked over, and embraced the man who'd served him faithfully for eleven years. Balinor seemed to appreciate the gesture, and looked happy as he turned to leave.

'One more thing,' he added, 'my son is _a lot_ better at magic than I am. On the odd chance he winds up at Camelot one day, would you let him into the training school? Even though he's a peasant?'

Uther smiled. 'If he can prove he's your son, Balinor, I'd accept him if he was a druid.'

Balinor nodded with a slightly twisted smile on his lips, then he walked out, out of the door and out of Uther's life forever.


End file.
